


Captivity

by tveckling



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Torture, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, In which Leon S. Kennedy gets utterly ruined, Kissing, M/M, Post-Resident Evil 4, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, standalone chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling
Summary: After rescuing President Graham's daughter agent Leon Kennedy goes missing. Meanwhile Albert Wesker gets a new toy in his hands.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Albert Wesker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 120





	Captivity

**Author's Note:**

> Starting this year with good vibes hell yeah (for me, not for poor Leon ofc)
> 
> So, this will be a series of non-chronologically written scenes of Wesker breaking Leon into his personal pet and guinea pig (and perhaps with a rescue in the end, if I ever feel like it, but knowing me.... we'll just have to see). Tags will be added as I add chapters.
> 
> List of the mentioned or graphically described injuries at the chapter's end for those who want it.

The only sound in his ears is the rasping sound of his breathing—that, and the ringing. He's probably gotten a concussion, Leon thinks, blinking sluggishly down at the floor between his spread legs. The dirty floor, covered by his blood more than not. If he had the energy he would lift his head; if he had the strength he'd laugh.

He has much worse damage than a concussion. Far worse.

His fingers jerk, a twitch of muscles more than a force of will, and a small noise of pain escapes his lips. They're broken, all of them. The sadistic asshole had taken much enjoyment in making Leon watch as he slowly twisted them. One by one. Leon had broken by the fifth one, hadn't been able to keep his screams locked behind his teeth any longer. And he'd kept screaming as the focus turned to his other hand.

That had only been the very beginning.

Now he has no more voice to scream with, even if he'd had the strength to. He feels weak, exhausted, pushed to the brink of what his body and mind could possibly endure—and as he looks down at the darkness waiting to swallow him, he wonders how easily it will be to make him fall. And if he will ever come back up.

Steps.

His muscles tightens—an involuntary action that makes him choke with pain, and for a moment he forgets everything else. Then he forces himself to crawl back to the reality he would rather just leave. He knows those steps, knows they can only belong to one person. But even as they stop, near him, he can't make himself raise his head. Doesn't have the strength to.

"Seems we were somewhat carried away earlier. My apologies. But you are a particularly vexatious man, Mr Kennedy, and I may have let my feelings get ahead of me."

Fingers covered by cold leather gently lift his chin, and Leon wishes he had enough energy to glare as he meets Wesker's red eyes. But he can only struggle to keep his eyes open, his breathing painful to hear but even. Calm. If he can keep calm he can do this. He can make it out of there. If Umbrella wanted him dead he wouldn't still be alive—that means there will be chances, opportunities. He just has to bide his time.

Wesker tilts his head and reaches out with his other hand to wipe something from under Leon's nose—blood, he sees when Wesker pulls his hand back. Leon wishes he could sneer. Surprising that the maniac would even care, considering who put Leon in this state. It would have been more in character for Wesker to lick up the blood rather than wipe it off on his pants.

"It was my wrongdoing. I simply should not have let my feelings control me. I swear I will have our medics take care of all your injuries, soon. We still have much to talk about, after all, you and I."

The words make Leon want to laugh, because _what talk_? Wesker hadn't even tried interrogating him, hadn't asked him questions, had barely said a word. Is this 'talk' supposed to be telepathic? Or with body language; Leon had to admit the other man was quite skilled at getting people to scream.

From his side Wesker produces an already opened bottle of water, and Leon feels all too clearly the dryness in his mouth. But he keeps his cool, stops any noises from escaping as the bottle's raised, comes closer, so clearly meant to tempt him. Well, Wesker can go fuck himself if he thinks Leon's going to play along with this sick version of a one-man bad cop good cop routine. Whatever he wants he won't be getting it.

But instead of demanding something, something for Leon to give him, the red eyed bastard only puts the opening of the bottle against Leon's lower lip and tilts it up. The surprise of the water poured into his mouth takes Leon back, even though he'd seen every movement, and it's as if he forgets how to swallow—the liquid pours into his throat, and stops, and he feels his insides twist as he chokes. The man in front of him is momentarily forgotten as Leon coughs, spits, his body jerking forward he mindlessly tries to clear his airways only to seize the next moment in pain as the sudden movements jar all the broken and bruised bones.

Once he comes back to, after what feels like an eternity of pain, he's lying on his back, staring at Wesker frowning down at him. It takes another moment before he realizes Wesker's hand is holding the side of his face. As though the man is- _concerned._

"I suppose that did not go quite the way I'd hoped. I want you to drink, as I imagine you must be dehydrated, but I have the feeling we will have some problems using ordinary methods."

Leon blinks, wonders what the hell the lunatic is talking about. And his confusion doesn't ease as Wesker takes a gulp of the water himself. Not even as Wesker then leans down does he understand what's going on—not until cold fingers harshly keeps his face still and his mouth wide open for Wesker to put his mouth over.

And as the water gets dumped into Leon's mouth he splutters, but Wesker won't give in, won't move away, pushing his lips tighter against Leon's. By sheer reflexes Leon finally swallows, and Wesker finally moves away, allowing Leon air to cough and breathe.

"If this is the way we'll have to do this, I suppose it would be a lie to say that I mind," Wesker says, and Leon feels hate well up inside him as he catches sight of the small smirk on the other man's face.

" _Don't fucking touch me._ "

The smirk widens, and the small satisfaction Leon had about managing to get his voice to work is wiped away as Wesker casually takes another mouthful of water. And even as he grits his teeth Leon can't do anything to stop him from covering his mouth again. And again. And again.

By the time the bottle is half empty Wesker has started to take his time, licking into Leon's mouth and moving his lips—acting as though it is an actual kiss. And the gloved thumb stuck between his teeth keeps Leon from ending the disgusting act, stops him from biting down with whatever strength his disgust and anger gives him. He'd raise his arms, push his assailant away, punch him, do _something_ —but even the thought of moving makes phantom pain flash through his arms, so he forces them to be still. It grates at him, but he knows the situation he's in, he knows how weak and vulnerable he is. It's infuriating, how he can't do _anything_ as Wesker plunders his mouth leisurely, how he can only glare defiantly when the man finally pulls back.

"You caught my attention, back in Raccoon, and then again with the Plaga virus, Mr Kennedy. I certainly hadn't thought you would actually manage to kill Krauser; and yet here you are, while his body's rotting away. Several times now you've survived things no ordinary human would, and I find myself- _intrigued._ Eager to have you in my grasp, so I could find out what makes you so special."

Wesker caresses his face, and rather than shuddering Leon sneers. "A glass of milk every morning makes your bones strong and sturdy; maybe that's what you've been missing."

The smile that pulls at Wesker's lips makes Leon's skin crawl, and if he could have he would probably have tried to crawl away physically. "I am not fond of sarcasm, Mr Kennedy. If there is one thing you should learn quickly, it's that. I tend to get… irritated when someone mouths off at me."

"I'd say that's a you problem, then, and none of my concerns," Leon snarls. The expression's wiped off his face as a hand wraps around his throat, the movement faster than he could see, and tightens.

"I would say it is very much your concern," Wesker murmurs, his voice just barely heard over Leon's choking. He holds on for a while longer, staring down at Leon with absolute coldness in those red eyes, but before the dark spots at the edge of his vision grows larger the hand lets go, and Leon shakes as he draws for breath again. He neither sees not feels Wesker's finger trailing the bloodied remains of his shirt.

Not until he tears it apart. And the smile he wears as Leon refocuses, looks up at him with watery eyes, chills him to the core.

"I would have given you over to our medics' experienced hands—but I think that will have to wait for some time longer. It seems I have some rules to teach you, Mr Kennedy. _Leon._ I'm afraid this will not be very pleasant for you, but I have hopes it will serve better as a teaching moment that way. If not we will simply have to do it all over again until you do learn."

Any potential retorts Leon could give dies on his tongue as Wesker presses down on his chest, right on top of the ribs Leon is fairly sure are not just bruised. His mouth opens, but only to let out a scream. His hands twitch at his sides, which only brings more wetness to his eyes.

The nails that run down his chest make him sob, trying in vain to turn away, to protect himself. Wesker's hands are hard, brutal, uncaring as they push him back to lie on his back again. Even though the gloves are removed they still feel so very cold. When those hands move to his pants Leon turns his face away, closes his eyes, bites his lip. Prepares to hold it all in, clings to the disgust and hatred filling his mind. He'll get through this. He'll get through it, everything this sadistic bastard puts him through, and he'll get out of there, and then _one day_ he'll burn all of Umbrella to the ground.

It's the thought he clings to with all his might, picturing how Wesker will be nothing but a corpse at his feet.

But the fantasy is swept away in a wave of pain that threatens to drown him when inhumanely strong hands grab his sides and flip him around on his stomach, indifferent to the way his body hits the hard floor. His body reacts before his mind, but pain steals the breath from his lungs as Leon whips up a hand to- do nothing, except jerk and curl up and fight for air again so he can _scream._

The monster above him doesn't care. Leon has barely managed to give sound to his torment before Wesker pulls and pushes at his body again, until he lies face down on the bloodied floor, gasping and shaking and staring with blind eyes. Small twitches move through his body, through his hands, through his _ruined fingers_ , but all Leon can do is try to remember how to breathe. There's nothing but the pain trying to suffocate him. He doesn't feel as the hands once again move to his pants, pulling them down—easier, in this position. He doesn't feel the air hit his bared skin, doesn't feel the hands rubbing his cheeks.

But he feels the fingers pushing into him.

"Ngh- _no!_ " 

His legs jerk, one of his feet strains, kicks out. He tries to close to his legs—to no avail. The body positioned between them won't move. And Leon can only choke on his sobs, pressing his forehead against the floor, as Wesker puts one hand on his thigh and pushes down, making the leg immobile. His other hand keeps moving.

"That's another thing," Wesker says easily, as though he isn't tearing Leon apart. "I don't care for that word. 'No.' I don't like being refused. We'll have to work on that."

It's hard to say whether the noises spilling from Leon's lips are sobs or laughter. He pretends it's the latter. "You're gonna- _ah-_ have to ge-get used- _ngh-_ to that, _fuckface_. I'm not gon- _ngah_!"

Wesker's voice is soft as silk, but his hand bears down on Leon's leg with such strength that it feels like the limb will break at any moment. "You _will_ do what I say. Doubtlessly you're a stubborn, willful man, but every person has their breaking point. It's only a matter of time until we will find yours. The longer you fight me, the more painful it will be for you—although, you surely already know that."

A scream tears itself from Leon's throat as his bones finally give in, and mindlessly he claws at the floor in front of him, the added pain of his broken fingers not making a change in the haze of agony already wrapped around his mind.

Wesker's voice cuts through the air like a blade slashing through flesh. " _I don't like obstinacy._ It reminds me too much of _him_."

The vitriol with which Wesker spits the last word is so noticeable that, even through the dizzying fog of pain, Leon wonders _who_ Wesker's talking about. But he doesn't get a chance to wonder for long, because the red eyed maniac recovers himself, clears his throat, and at the same time as he grips Leon's splintered leg harder he pulls out his fingers. The scream empties all questions from his mind as Leon convulses on the floor, eyes threatening to roll back into his head.

But like a snake wrapping itself around him Wesker won't let him fall into the darkness. The grip eases, and along with it the pain, goes from pushing him beyond his limits to simply overwhelming, and yet again Leon regains the ability to breathe. The way his heaving gasps hit the floor makes it flow right back into his face, pressed against the hard surface, making it uncomfortably moist and warm. He can't find it in himself to care, not with Wesker's fingers digging into his hips, and low words being spoken above him. 

Whether it's directed to him or not, Leon is finding himself learning to listen to whatever Wesker says—that seems to be the only warning to the random bursts of anger. If only he could focus more clearly, maybe then he'd be able to analyze Wesker's words and change in moods more easily, be able to find a way to work around them, to _use_ them to his advantage. But as it is his full concentration is turned towards not being overcome by the repeated flashes of white hot pain, and he finds it so very hard to even hear the words clearly.

"No, stop it, this is not the time to think about that person. This won't do, this won't do at all, no. It will _not_ do."

Laughter bubbles like blood through his lips as the words register. _What was the forbidden word again?_ Wesker appears to have forgotten. For a short moment Leon plays with the thought of pointing it out aloud, but then he disregards it, simply contends himself with his own amusement. He's tired. He's in pain. He's _exhausted_. The defiance he showed earlier will have to be enough, for now at least. There simply isn't anything left for him to draw from—not anger, not spite, not even sheer stubbornness. There is only pain and the wish for this all to be _over_.

Of course, it won't be so easy. The man behind him moves, and Leon lets out a strangled cry as the hands on his hips lift him up, forcing him into a kneeling position. Lightning flashes in front of his eyes before everything turns dark, for one eternal moment that passes all too quickly. He comes back to himself gasping, leaning on a shaking forearm, sharp shards of pain continuously stabbing into his body from the pressure forced on the leg Wesker broke. His vision swims once he manages to open his eyes, so he closes them again.

"You're a very attractive man, _Leon_. And an impressively resilient one, as well." Fingers caresses Leon's side, from his hip up to his chest and back down again. He can't quite swallow down the whimper at the agonizing brush over his ribs. "In my experience most people would have passed out after acquiring the same amount of damage that you have. But you're still holding on so well. It makes my interest in you grow… _remarkably._ "

If only the bastard would stop _talking_. Just _get on_ with what he's going to do already; listening to him talk is definitely becoming Leon's least favorite form of torture. Were he able to talk Leon would happily tell him exactly that, in far more words and detail.

But he can't, so he doesn't. All he can do is grit his teeth and give Wesker as few reactions he can—the less he shows, the harder it will be to tell how bad he actually is hurting. At least, that's what he hopes.

Not that his silence does much to discourage the other man. He feels those hands move again, one holding him up while the other pulls at his pants again. With his legs forced open, with Wesker himself between them, Leon can feel the rough fabric bite into the skin of his thighs as Wesker forces them lower. The waist band presses hard against the area that makes Leon dizzy with pain, and wet whines keep escaping him as he leans harder on his arm, desperately biting back the pleas threatening to spill out because it _hurts_ , so goddamn much, enough to make him think he'll go insane from the constant strain.

"Oh dear, are you in pain? I suppose you would be." Wesker manages to almost sound concerned, and hatred curls tight and hard within Leon's chest. He pretends he doesn't feel the hand caressing his hip, pretends he doesn't feel a shudder crawl up his back at the touch, blinks quickly as though that will keep his eyes dry. Tries to not hear the words directed at him—and failing. "If you'd only been more amicable you wouldn't be in this situation. I hope this teaches you to pay proper respect and attention to what I say in the future."

And his mind blanks, his breath stutters, his eyes flies wide open as Wesker forces his way into his body in one merciless thrust, fingers digging into his hips hard enough to bruise the bones. There's nothing, no pain, no feelings, nothing except the sound of his own heartbeat, loud in his ears. Then Wesker pulls out, to push back in farther, and Leon is hit by _everything_ all at once. 

He screams.

He screams.

He screams.

All that's left is the pain, and the fear that it will _never_ end. 

**Author's Note:**

> \- Wesker twisted and broke all of Leon's fingers  
> \- Leon has broken ribs  
> \- Leon has a concussion  
> \- Wesker breaks Leon's femur/thigh bone
> 
> Wanna talk, wanna chat, wanna know wtf is up with me and my fics? Feel free to PM me at tumblr. Same username as here~ (I'm also way better at answering there)


End file.
